Grind Her Into Submission
by RedRoom
Summary: Faberry Week Prompt: Unresolved Sexual Tension. Rachel's not above pulling her weapon on Quinn if it means that she'll get a date out of it.
1. Chapter 1

"Well would you rather come over to my place? I'll cook us a nice candlelit dinner, and we can enjoy an expensive bottle of wine in front of the fireplace."

Quinn ignores the relentless whisper behind her, much more concerned with keeping her shoulder tight to the wall as she weaves soundless steps along the brickwork. Her frown, born of concentration, intensifies with every step that takes her closer to the unsuspecting men, and she can feel that rush multiplying in her veins.

"_Ok_. Then how about I take you to Paris? I promise you won't see anything besides rose petals and the ceiling of our hotel room."

Just a few more carefully placed steps, and this job will be over. Of course, people will have lost their lives. But that isn't her problem. At least, Quinn doesn't consider it to be... not until rivals are shooting holes in her grocery bags from across a crowded street anyway.

She can feel that familiar stillness swelling in the imminent chaos as she slowly frees her revolver from her hip holster, and cocks the weapon's cold steely hammer back with a steady thumb.

It's time to do what she's good at - what she gets paid for.

"Quinn! I'm talking to you!"

The platinum blonde twists around in a flurry of thinning patience, narrowing fierce hazel eyes at her ally. She slowly lifts a lone finger to her own lips, and the gesture - along with the weight of her gaze - feels, to Rachel, like some sort of threat.

Naturally, the divaesque brunette huffs, lifting her foot to stomp it, before remembering where they are. She lets her foot back down to the brickwork in a much softer manner than she would prefer, and carefully slips her own gun free of the compartment inside of her jacket.

Quinn gives a subtle nod that fills the air with focus. "We count to five, and then we do this," she mouths. "Ready?"

"Whatever!" Rachel whispers back.

"One... Two... Three... Four... Five."

The gun - Rachel's cute little semi-automatic pistol - is at Quinn's pale temple as soon as those last puffs of breath wind past her lips, its eye pressing into the perfect flesh gently. "Now that I seem to have your attention," Rachel whispers through a smirk, before she thumbs her weapon's hammer back, "I'd like to know what you'd like to do for our first date."

Quinn - trembling, and not because she's scared - suppresses a deep growl, settling for clenching her jaw as she glares at her assigned partner. This is the absolute last time that she's ever going to agree to taking a job with Rachel.

The absolute last!

"Remember now - expense is no object," the brunette adds, her doey chestnut eyes livening with the possibilities. "Shoot for the stars. We'll do whatever it is that you'd like to do."

"I'd _like _to get out of here alive! What the fuck do you think you're doing, Rachel? This isn't a game! _Lower _the gun!" Quinn hisses, her chest rolling up and down with each breath - eyes a beautiful champagne blizzard of indignation.

Rachel cherishes the sight of the gorgeous blonde in such a state of duress. But only because she's beginning to think that she's never going to get to see it in a more romantic setting, like with Quinn naked, panting, and spread apart beneath her. "Don't look so flustered. The only way that you're going to die tonight, is if I, in fact, decide that I'm done with you rejecting me," she teases. "Thin ice, Fabray."

"Listen to me carefully, Rachel. If you had _any _shot before, you sure as hell don't now! Not that you _ever _had a shot with me! Understand?" Quinn spits in a harsh whisper, which stays just quiet enough to slip underneath the bustle of the poker game that the targets are engaged in, just around the corner.

Rachel pouts, and after a moment or two, when she realizes that Quinn seems to be amongst the few who are immune to it, her features harden, and she lowers her pistol. "Fine! We'll wait until their conversation livens up, and then you do your thing. I'll cover you."

"Gee, I'd really appreciate that!" Quinn snaps, turning her back to her partner once more.

Simply unable to help herself, Rachel combs her hooded gaze down over the platinum blonde's ass, and sinks her teeth into her own bottom lip - tugging at the soft plump flesh. "Quinn, Quinn, oh beautiful Quinn," she chants to herself, each rasp brimming with wistful longing.

Despite being on different pages elsewhere, both women recognize _the _moment when it arrives.

Quinn steps out from behind the wall, and Rachel's right there alongside her. Shots clatter; bullets warping the air, and silencing startled grunts, until the three men are leaking and lifeless.

The poker table, littered with playing cards and three half empty bottles of beer, now looks out of place on the vast rooftop. Abandoned, Quinn notes. A cigar still smokes between the plump fingers of the body that's slumped in its seat. Quinn quickly removes it, tossing it elsewhere, because Benoit's boys are savvy enough to play dead.

"Well that was ridiculously easy," Rachel muses, almost like she's sad that the excitement is over. She lowers her smoking pistol once she's certain that there's nobody else on the rooftop with them. Nobody who's still drawing breath, anyway.

Quinn suddenly stills. "Where's the briefcase that we're supposed to pick up?"

Rachel slides her weapon back into the compartment inside of her jacket, before inclining a nod towards the table - a smirk on her face. "Look," she instructs.

"I have no idea why you're smirking. As soon as I talk to your father, he's going to know about the shit you pulled on me tonight!" Quinn growls as she secures a hand around the briefcase' metallic handle, and draws it out from beneath the table.

"Quinn, if you'd just agree to a date with me, I wouldn't be forced to take such drastic measures now, would I?" Rachel bites back, folding her arms as she snatches her gaze away from the other woman, like Quinn isn't worthy of it at this present time.

The blonde scoffs, shaking her head from side to side whilst her raspy chuckle finds its way out into the cold night.

She'd known that Rachel was trouble from the very beginning. Raised an only child, with New York's underground mob king for a father? Sure, spoiled and entitled is bound to be par for the course. But Rachel, she's... something else.

"You can't actually fathom that there's anybody out there who wouldn't be interested in you, can you?" she challenges, still chuckling. "Yeah, well you might like the ladies. But _I'm _not into that. If you'd bothered to ask, instead of bombarding me with date proposals, maybe you'd know that."

Rachel's the one who scoffs then. "Oh please Quinn. I've seen your DVD collection. Bloomington? Imagine Me And You?" she snorts, laughing her girly hi-pitched giggle like nothing could be funnier.

"I was living with Santana at the time, genius," Quinn points out over the ruckus. "That collection was hers. Do I look like someone who has the patience, or the time, to watch DVD's?"

"So I can cross off watching a movie for our first date then?" Rachel asks, batting her eyelashes innocently, before a teasing grin makes its way through.

Quinn deadpans and jams her gun back into its holster.

Still giggling, Rachel looks out over the twinkling city, taking pride in the fact that her father essentially runs it. "Perhaps we should head back. I don't usually mind dead bodies, but these ones are throwing off the feng shui up here," she says, nudging one of the lifeless men with her Prada shoe.

* * *

><p>"Quinn," Leroy drawls affectionately.<p>

"Leroy," Quinn responds, granting her boss a polite nod.

"Where's my princess?"

"Out front with Puck and Brittany," Quinn says. She decides that there's no use in beating around the bush, and hikes the heavy briefcase up, sliding it across the desk. "It definitely feels like it's all there. But I'd still get Puck to weigh it," she recommends.

Leroy nods, his dark eyes suddenly every bit serious. "Were there any hiccups?" he enquires, passing his large palm over the surface of the briefcase, like a geologist dusting down recently discovered artifacts.

Quinn shakes her head. "Not really, except..."

Leroy frowns. "Except for what?" he encourages, though the deep rolling resonance to his voice feels more like an order to Quinn.

Even so, she remains composed and unaffected. Many people - even cops, lawyers, and judges - fear Leroy Berry. But she's not one of them. What she feels for the man is respect. There's a difference - and Quinn respects him enough to inform him about anything that may pose a threat to future operations, like: "Rachel pulled on me tonight, because I was too busy focusing on the job to entertain her myriad of romantic proposals."

When Leroy chuckles and reclines in his desk chair, as though he's getting ready to regale her with warm stories from Rachel's childhood, Quinn cocks an eyebrow.

"I'm not taking any other jobs with her. Tonight was the last," she says. "She could've gotten us both killed on that roof."

Leroy slings his feet up on top of the desk, crossing them at the ankles. "Very well. If that's what you'd like, then... I won't send her out with you again. But you're going to have to be the one to tell her. She's going to be heartbroken."

If it had been anybody else, Leroy would already be orchestrating their death. But it's not anybody else. It's his daughter, and killing her - or simply scolding her, for that matter - ventures far out beyond his realm of comfort.

"I've seen the way that she looks at you, Quinn. Perhaps you'd humor her and, you know... take her out."

Quinn sighs. "I'm not into women, Leroy."

"You're not?"

"No. I'm not, which means that I'm not into your daughter. How did I suddenly become the poster child for lesbian love? I _know_ it's not the leather jacket," she says, winking at her boss to indicate the jest that is absent from her gaze.

Leroy plucks a fresh cigar from a drawer in his desk, but doesn't seek to light it up. He just passes it from hand to hand. "I know that it may seem like Rachel has it all, Quinn. But..." A pained frown flares in his brow, but it vanishes fast. "This life... _My _way of life has also robbed her of many things. Few want much to do with her because they fear that if they put a foot wrong, I'll kill them... and they're not wrong. As a consequence, my daughter's very lonely and can be a little clingy. But she likes you. As a personal favor to me, I'd like it if you were to spend time with her outside of the organization - make her feel like she has someone, other than me, who values her presence."

Honestly? Quinn can't think of anything more exhausting. Rachel's a spoiled diva, who just has to have things her own way. And Quinn knows herself to be a stubborn mule, who also likes things her own way. She's not attracted to women, but if she was, her and Rachel? Spending time together just to spend time together? She can almost hear the hate sex.

"Look Leroy," she begins, suddenly feeling like she's taking cautious steps through a field that's riddled with landmines, "it's not that I don't like Rachel. I just don't feel like our personalities would allow for the type of companionship that she craves. For one, she's into me, and I don't want her to think that I return her feelings."

"So teach her what I failed to."

"And what would that be?"

Leroy smirks. "That, in life, we don't always get what we want."

After she takes a deep breath, Quinn bows her head dutifully, before leaving the office.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey peeps. Just writing this to let everyone know that this was only meant to be a one shot for Faberry week. But thank you for all of your reviews and favs and follows.


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